The idea was, by any reasonable standard, unhinged.
A soul was not a personal effect. A soul was the foundational definition of a person. What Tom was describing was the annexation of another person's soul fragment as a supplementary extension of his own, which would simultaneously convert the Horcrux itself into his possession. No soul-splitting required. He would simply be acquiring Voldemort's, the way one absorbs a subsidiary into a larger company.
Ravenclaw's instinct was to tell him it was impossible. But magic was, at its root, the road to the improbable. Rules existed until someone with enough power and creativity decided they were inconvenient. As long as there was a wand in hand and magic in the blood, "impossible" had always been the starting point, not the ending one.
"A Confundus Charm," Tom said. "Applied to the soul fragment itself. Alter its self-perception. The effects might be surprising."
She had never built a Horcrux, but Ravenclaw identified the critical obstacle immediately. "You'd have to breach the Horcrux shell's defenses before you could get anything near the soul inside."
"Plenty of time to work on it. I've got another Mind Avatar slot since the apple. I'll assign one to the problem."
Tom didn't sound even slightly concerned. The golden apple had increased his sustainable avatar count from three to four, with room for more as his mental architecture stabilized further. Other people operated as single-threaded processors, grinding through problems sequentially. He was running parallel, heavily overclocked, with enough redundancy to fail repeatedly on any given thread and still make progress overall.
His personal focus stayed on direct power development.
Grindelwald had been the benchmark for long enough. The real target now was Andros, the same category of raw-numbers monster, and Tom intended to close the gap.
...
Across the castle, the headmaster's office held a different kind of problem.
It was deep into the night, but Dumbledore hadn't moved from his desk. His quill moved quickly, the expression on his face precisely the kind of serious that came from conversations with no comfortable exit. He was in written debate with Babajide Akingbade, President of the International Confederation of Wizards.
[Dumbledore: Babajide, I urge caution. Do not act impulsively. Grindelwald possesses exceptional intelligence. Bulgaria's approach will not have escaped his notice.]
[Akingbade: Albus, I can confirm: Grindelwald has shown no sign of suspicion. This afternoon Oblansk received a reply, written in Grindelwald's own hand. He has agreed to visit Bulgaria this weekend and formally receive the Ministry.]
Oblansk was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he had been the one to propose the overture to Grindelwald. His desire to join the Saints was, in fact, genuine. Bulgaria's magical community had been declining for years. Graduates left. The Ministry administered an increasingly hollow institution. Another generation of this trajectory and there might not be enough left to justify the Ministry's continued existence. Why not gamble on a new alignment, acquire resources through that alliance, and recover some momentum?
Unfortunately for Oblansk, his Ministry contained officials who did not share this view, particularly those whose positions had been built on the wreckage of the Saints' previous defeat. Their futures under a returned Grindelwald were obvious and unpleasant. These were not people inclined toward optimism about the arrangement.
That faction had made quiet contact with Akingbade and several other national Ministries. The plan that emerged was elegant in its opportunism: Grindelwald would come to them, with a limited escort, outside his controlled territory. He would never have a more exposed moment.
Tonight, Akingbade had come to get Dumbledore's commitment.
Grindelwald would not bring his full forces into Bulgaria. Several hundred elite Aurors, combined with Dumbledore, would be more than sufficient to ensure that Grindelwald's visit was his last.
[Dumbledore: My instinct is that he already knows. He is choosing to come anyway, and that should concern you more than anything else.]
[Akingbade: But the opportunity is singular. Dumbledore, the wizarding world needs you. As the strongest wizard alive, you must stand with us at this moment. If you are absent, the sacrifice of every Auror who falls will rest entirely on your inaction.]
This was moral blackmail, delivered without subtlety. Several hundred Auror lives, and you can't be moved to act?
Against Tom or Grindelwald this approach landed like a paper airplane against a stone wall. Against Dumbledore it was a direct hit. He was not built to ignore that kind of weight, regardless of his misgivings.
The debate continued into the grey hours before dawn. When the first light finally crept across the windows, Dumbledore conceded. He could not stop the operation. He could only be part of it and try to limit the damage.
Across the ocean, Akingbade received the reply and allowed himself genuine relief. He sent through the plan immediately, which had been waiting fully prepared for exactly this confirmation.
Dumbledore was to appear publicly and visibly on the day, but at a sufficient distance from Bulgaria that Grindelwald would have no reason to adjust his approach. Pre-positioned Portkeys would move Dumbledore to the battlefield when the window opened.
The gap between Grindelwald's arrival and Dumbledore's appearance would be somewhere between thirty minutes and an hour. The pre-positioned Aurors would contain Grindelwald during that period.
There might be casualties. Akingbade and the assembled Ministers accepted that. But several hundred Aurors against a single wizard, with Dumbledore arriving shortly behind? Even Grindelwald had limits.
Numbers, after all, had their own logic.
Advantage: us.